Careless Wishes
by saladhawk
Summary: Famous sixth year at Hogwarts. What's going on in "the hero's" head? Who has he been up until now and who did he become? A little introduction. Will grow into an ActionAdventure fic, but I'm not giving anything away yet, as the first chapter doesn't eithe


Disclamer: I don't own anything that's not my own and while I do have my copies of the Harry Potter books, which I bought from that nice little book shop not far away from my house, I still don't own the story. Never tried to make it seem that way. So that's it. You can't sue me. Go away. :P

Pairing: dunno. May turn out to be SS/HP. Or maybe it wont. Maybe there will be none at all. All up to my evil imagination, so muahaha.

Rated for whatever it might be my mind will come up with.

Author's note: There, that's about my second fanfiction and my first with Harry Potter, so... right, so that doesn't give me any right to write horrendous stories with no plot whatsoever and lots and lost of mistakes. But I'm not english, neither am I american, so I might have done something wrong without realizing it. Do tell me, but do NOT flame. I really wouldn't like to rip your head off and feed it to my imaginary dog. Right, so maybe I would, but don't try me anyway.

On with the story

Chapter 1

„Be careful what you wish for."

The sentence, idle to otheres' eares, had struck a nerve. Like a mislead cruciatus it had burned itself into his brain, where it had been residing quite persistantly ever since.

His hand scribbled down some words his brain did not register. Did he have them? Wishes. Something to be careful of.

Did he, for instance, wish to fight evil? Fight anything at all for that matter. He did wish to protect his friends.

Or did he?

He certainly wished to have Him back. Grinning happily at him with that proud expression printed firmly in his face, when presented with actions worthy of a Potter. Wiggling his tail in apprehension of the freedom of a short walk, when in dog-form.

Bringing back the dead was not possible. So that's all it was: a wish. But was it a dangerous one?

Did he have any of those little sparks of a mind, which would dance vigorously around in his head, nagging him to do something careless, stupid even, something worthy of trouble and punishments, but able to make him laugh a sincerly happy laugh at the results?

He had had them once.

'Once' seemd so very far away.

Silence. Not the silence of common concentration of a class during a difficult lesson. Silent silence, one indicating shock, fear, or at least confusion. Then that unnerving feeling of many eyes resting upon himself. Someone standing beside him, looking down at his sitting form. Someone waiting for a reaction. Someone who must have been asking.

_Smile._

_Because that's what they expect you to do. _

"Harry?" The worried voice of a friend. The elbow of another's in his ribs. Snape growling down at him, grinning viciously at the same time. How the man did it, Harry might never learn.

"Fifteen points from Griffyndor for messing up your potion, Potter. And fifteen more for spacing out during class. Your other teachers may treat you differently regarding your status as our world's shining saviour, but that is not something I am inclined to do. You have, after all, yet to do something worthy of admiration. As it is I am actually rather surprised at the fact, that you are still a member of this institution, which is supposed to be a school for _capable_ wizards."

There, those famous words again. Angry Griffyndors. Happy Syltherins. Something wrong with that picture, though, as far as 'the shining saviour' was concerned.

"Right. Seeing how you are a teacher of such a mesmerizing foundation, surely you can go kill Voldemort all by yourself. Watch me sitting in a comfy muggle dinning room, cheering you on, burning my wand and admitting your unconditional superiority."

It wasn't a happy potions master, that was dragging one grinning hero of the wizarding world down the umplenghty halls of Hogwarts in the direction of a stony gargoyle. He had all but babbled out the prophecy in the middle of class. All in the face of half a dozen Syltherins, who would doubtlessly make a point of informing their parents, at least some of which were bound to turn out to be Deatheaters. He had, among other things, put his life to even more danger.

And...

Maybe, just maybe, he still had those wishes after all.


End file.
